


liebling

by lykxxn



Series: the peter pan archives [1]
Category: Casualty (TV)
Genre: Coma, Gen, POV Second Person, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/lykxxn
Summary: She does not give you any information about herself, and you are unsatisfied, and she knows it.





	liebling

Darkness chokes you, and you almost panic, if not for the soothing touch on your arm. Mum. It must be Mum. She's okay then ... or is it Dad? No, no, that hand's too soft to be Dad's ...

"Don't be going on me now," says a voice, unfamiliar and accented, but young, almost as young as you. "You've done this at least five times, you know. You have  _got_ to stop panicking. How am I supposed to talk to you if you keep panicking?"

Who, you wonder, and the voice answers as if you voiced the question.

"Johanna Ritter. Sorry ... I didn't mean to frighten you ..."

Are you real, you wonder, and then, how did you get here.

There is an accented little laugh, dark and musing. "Yes, Gracie, yes. I am very real indeed." And, to prove her statement, she pinches your arm sharply. "But not to anyone else. Nobody knows I'm here, you see." 

Johanna Ritter's laugh echoes through the room for at least a week, even when Mum comes in and talks to you, you can hear her in your mind. Have you talked to Mum, you ask, and Johanna laughs again.

"I only talk to you," she replies, and when you ask how did you get in, she does not reply. She is very good at avoiding questions. 

"Oh, Gracie, Gracie." She is stroking your hair again; she does this so often you're used to it now, but you do wonder why. Maybe she likes the way it feels—although it must be greasy by now. You cannot remember how long you've been enveloped in this constant nighttime for. "I know so much about you, but you know so  _little_ about me. What a shame."

She does not give you any information about herself, and you are unsatisfied, and she knows it.

You do not hear her laugh for a long time, but you hear Mum and Dad and Gran. You want to ask them about Johanna, have they seen her, is she a patient, why does she keep talking to me, but you are still motionless, and Mum still has tears in her throat and hands that shake like little earthquakes when she holds you.

You learn to recognise footsteps. 

Every time you hear Johanna's, light and airy, almost like Peter Pan, flying up to the window and stepping through, relief floods you. It's good to have a friend.

Are you Peter Pan, you think stupidly.

You hear the laugh again and you imagine a cheeky smile perking up her face. " _Nein_ , I can assure you I am growing up, Grace. I can prove it to you: I grew up a bra size yesterday.  _Mama_ took me to get a new one."

She takes your hand and brushes it across hers, letting you feel every knuckle, every fingernail and every line on her palm.

I hope I get to see you one day.

"You will. In time,  _Liebling_."

What does that mean Johanna. You're not English, are you.

" _Liebling_ is just a term of endearment, I guess." She sounds embarrassed. "And no, I am not. Swiss, actually."

What's a Swiss, you ask, and it gets a laugh out of her, bright and shiny, and there is a flash of light in your dark world.

"I'm from Switzerland," she explains. "You,  _Kleiner_ , have a lot to learn."

When will I wake up, you ask to someone who will never have the answers.

She keeps telling you it will be soon, but you are growing impatient.

Mum tells you about all the people waiting for you when you wake up, neglecting to mention Johanna.

Why don't they know you, you ask the Swiss girl when her feet next patter in.

"Because I don't talk to them," she replies nonchalantly.

And why not.

You feel like a dog chasing its tail, going round and round and round and always coming back to the same place you began.

She does not answer your question, and you wonder what could be so bad about talking to Mum and Dad. They're not  _scary_.

"I imagine not," she says, and you hear her biting her nails, cracking through the silence of your thoughts. "But I do not want to talk to them. Is that enough for you?"

But she disappears for a long time afterward.

It is not until your eyes open, and you are blind to the darkness of the little room, and your world has magnified again, that she reappears.

You see the faded jeans before you hear her Peter Pan feet. A girl, perhaps the same height as you, stands in the doorway, blond hair tied back behind her shoulders. Piercing, mischievous green eyes look you up and down, once, twice, three times before she looks satisfied.

Your mouth must drop open, because she laughs at you, and for the first time, you can truly see just how beautiful she is, and just how beautiful that laugh makes her.

"I told you you'd wake up in time, didn't I,  _Liebling_?"


End file.
